


Sixth Sense

by spadeflake



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Minor Anya/Raven Reyes, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-08-09 06:23:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7790104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spadeflake/pseuds/spadeflake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke can't lose anyone else. It would be too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Stop

 “Would you let go of me?”

“Could you please just trust me?”

“I don’t even know you!”

A loud breath was expelled. Brows furrowed and anger rose. Clarke swallowed her frustration back and turned to meet wide green eyes startled at the sudden change in movement. The girl took a step back and a moment to compose herself, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst.

Clarke tightened her grip a measure and took a step closer, urgency in her deep, hushed voice. “You’re right. You don’t know me and I don’t know you, but I promise, I’m trying to help you,” she assured.

The words dispelled did nothing, but heighten the girl’s confusion, and yet, that didn’t seem to hinder Clarke as she immediately pulled her forward and continued on her path. Whatever had the random blonde before her this driven, she didn’t know, but she didn’t have the heart to pull back now.

They stopped outside of a small cafe and the older girl was surprised that she let someone drag her off campus, let alone someone she’d never spoken to before. She waited for some kind of climax. The declaration of a ridiculous prank or some kind of dare. Any disclosure would have helped alleviate her worry, but none came. Inside, they sat in a booth off to the side, far from any wandering eyes and curious ears. She watched the erratic blonde ordered coffee for the both of them.

“What’s your name?” Clarke asked, finally dropping her hand, but leaning forward. There was a way about her that intrigued the brunette, but she stayed with her back pressed hard against the back of the seat, anxious as ever.

“Lexa,” she answered. The panic Lexa felt was understood, but was kept under the surface, invisible to the eye. The odder of the two respected that.

“I’m Clarke,” she said in turn, as if it should mean something. It didn’t. That’s when Lexa vaguely remembered the person sitting before her. She tensed.

“You.. What is this? Why am I here?" Thin fingers dug into the cheap maroon cushion below her.

Clarke met her eyes solemnly when she heard the recognition in her voice. With a breath, “You’re in danger, Lexa,” escaped from her thin lips.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” Lexa ground out, volume louder.

“You won’t believe me, but there are forces at work here. All I know is something is coming for you and I can’t let it." A sigh. "I need this. I need for you to be okay.” Her words trembled. There was a certain fire in her eyes. It sounded sincere, but it also sounded insane.

Lexa sunk further into her seat with the need to think. Her hands came to her temples as she puffed out steam into the cold winter air. They sat in silence for awhile. Their coffee arrived and when Lexa finished hers, she looked up to meet Clarke's eyes evenly and unimpressed.

"Why?"

"I don't want you to get hurt." It was the truth, but there was more. Not that it would all be voiced now.

Clarke got up to leave and Lexa let her, still confused and unsure what to make of whatever this was.

"It's gone," she shared. Clarke looked back one last time with silent certainty. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Lexa."

Still wary, but ever polite, Lexa nodded. When Clarke was gone, her head was again cradled in her hands.

"What the fuck?"


	2. Sad Stories

Clarke was a mess. She sat, curled up tightly, with her arms serving as the only things holding her together. Sob after sob tore through her. Light from the night sky snuck through the blinds and laid in stark contrast against the incomplete canvases scattered around the floor of her closed off bedroom. Her cries were ear piercing in the eerily silence space.

She had a gift. One that she wasn’t even sure was real. Oh, how she needed it to be real.

Clarke lost her father, Jake Griffin, at a young age. She was still young and the wound still fresh. Her father always knew that there was something special about her, or so he would say. Maybe he was right. Except this special wasn’t something she would wish upon her worst enemy. This special opened up a world of hurt that she didn’t have the tools to navigate through. This special...

She lost her childhood friend, Wells Jaha, even more recently. He was her best friend. And she was his. They’d always been. Their parents were unbelievably close for years before either of them were born. It was almost destined. And what he felt for her, he described as otherworldly. It grew more and more everyday until it bloomed within the cage of his chest. She was eager to feel that too one day. She was sure, given time, she could’ve grown to love him the way he loved her. But now, she would never know.

In his death, she gained a new understanding.

It was her fault. Every life lost. Every grieving parent, child, sibling, friend, and lover. She exposed them to that pain. It plagued her and buried her under misery of a weight that she still couldn’t fully comprehend. Because if it was―real―if she really had the power to sense death, she could have saved them. She could have done something, said something, and then maybe they’d still be here.

Clarke screamed out, hands fisting the covers beneath her.

She allowed for this to happen. She did it to herself. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. Maybe it was easier to blame herself. Man, she felt worthless. The kind of less you could only ever truly grasp when you watched the life get sucked out from the resting body in your arms over and over again.

It’s always been there. That dull ache that enveloped her whenever death came near. She thought of them as lapses. Something that didn’t have nor need an explanation. Thinking too hard about whatever wasn’t there made it seem as though it was more than it was, didn’t it?

So she ignored it. The slow throbbing of her heart, the hazy spinning of her head, and her sudden, mysterious blurred vision. How everything would turn to grayscale, for just a moment, and time would linger. She’d experienced it all her life. How was she supposed to know it was an ominous warning? A premonition for death?

Everyone was supposed to die. Life was just the inbetween. The time we got, chasing after whatever we believed important, before returning to darkness. And life was meaningless without that importance. Life was nothing.

But then it was.

Something. She turned it into that. Could turn it into that. Clarke realized when she felt that oh, so familiar pang within her while looking into endless green eyes. They turned gray and all she could think was stop. Just this once. Please. Stop.

Don’t take this from me.

But it didn’t stop. So she made it. She grabbed the random, and yet not so random, woman she’d accidently knocked over, distracted by her grief, by the hand and ran. Not towards any planned destination. Just away. To make it stop.

It made sense to her at the time. Not so much to her unknowing damsel in distress.

That woman, Lexa, was understandably pissed. Clarke recognized her immediately. As she would anyone she’d laid a hand in hurting. Because Clarke knew Lexa would lose the one most precious to her. Needless to say, she did. And Clarke didn’t help. If anything, she set the cogs in motion. Bringing them to where they were now.

Blessing or curse, it stopped.

“It stopped,” she breathed out with sudden clarity.

Clarke found the strength to pick herself up. She washed her face and sighed when she heard loud footsteps leading to her apartment door. Raven broke in, pizza in hand, mouth already open, declaring this a netflix marathon night. Clarke agreed. If not because she was lonely, because she knew this was Raven’s way of helping. Both Clarke and herself. She wondered if Raven would still want to help if she knew Clarke was the one who killed her late boyfriend. She may not have been the one who stabbed him, but she was just as responsible. As she was for the deaths of her dad and best friend.

They’ve been quiet the whole night. Allowing Brooklyn Nine-Nine to fill in the silence. Clarke thought Raven was doing it for her, but when she looked over and saw brown eyes shining with unshed tears, she knew she wasn’t. A wave of guilt hit her and made it impossible to continue to sit there, allowing Raven to feel this and allowing herself to benefit. She paused the show.

“Raven,” Clarke called out, softy. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Her reaction was delayed. She blinked slowly, then turned jerkily and coughed. “What’s up?”

Clarke released a shaky breath and fisted her clammy palms in an attempt to steady them. “It was my fault.” The heater grew louder in volume, as if to make up for the television’s absence.

“This again?” Raven huffed out, tired.

“I mean it,” she said, eyes low, watching as her knuckles drained themselves of blood. Her throat was thick with emotion that she couldn’t quite swallow down and she closed her eyes for a moment. Then, she locked eyes with Raven. “I knew he was going to die.”

“How could you have possibly known that?” Raven asked, annoyance seeping into her tone as her cheeks paled.

“I can’t explain, but I knew. I let it happen.” She swallowed. “I took him away from you.”

“You know what? Fuck you.” Raven’s voice trembled and broke over her words, too weak for the strength of them. “You know that I don’t―can’t talk about this.” She stood, fists clenched, anger rolling off of her in waves.

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, standing to keep eye level with Raven. She reached out, but retracted when Raven recoiled. A small part of her inside smiled, surrounded by overbearing shame.

Raven rolled her eyes. “For yourself, maybe.”

“You’re right. That was selfish of me.” Clarke backtracked. This conversation was for her own satisfaction, not Raven’s. What was she doing? Punishing herself? Whatever this was, it was pathetic, and she hated herself all the more for it. For once again blindly hurting the ones she cared about. It was a nasty habit and it seemed that she was addicted.

“Yeah, it was. You think I’m going to comfort you? Talk you down and ease your survivor’s guilt?” Raven jabbed her finger into Clarke’s chest and backed her into a wall. “I’m in just as much pain as you.”

“I know how much you cared about him,” Clarke said, looking up at her, drinking in both the spoken and unspoken behind the quivering lines of her face. She nodded in acceptance and understanding. Her blue eyes, foggy and tinged with red, were surprisingly warm. “Finn-”

“Don’t you dare say his name,” Raven bit. Something within her snapped like a dam and the oceans of sadness and pain she’d been holding back broke through, flooding her features. “You don’t know. You don’t know anything.” Silence swept over them. Raven’s chest heaved in tune with her rapidly beating heart. The room grew hot and cramped. “This was a mistake,” she said, eyes damp and hard. “I’m leaving.”

The door slammed shut, anger still present and echoing off the walls. Clarke couldn’t breathe.

She took a walk not long after to clear her head. The chill in the air was comforting against her hot cheeks. She’d just pushed away the one person she could still stand. Why did she feel liberated?

“Clarke,” a voice spoke ahead of her, annoyance distinct, yet surprising.

She recognized it immediately. “Lexa?”

Clarke looked up to find gray. She must have looked panicked because Lexa’s features softened and when she spoke again, there wasn’t as much aggression behind her words.

“You’re not following me, are you?” Lexa asked, brows furrowed.

“Of course not, I thought-” Clarke stammered, confused, “I thought it was over.” Her head spun and she stumbled, nearly falling into Lexa a second time. “We have to get out of here,” she declared, urgent.

“This again?” Lexa asked, irritation dripping from her voice. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” she argued while quickly checking their surroundings.

They were alone. Neighborhood behind them, empty street to their left, and flickering lights from above. There was a corner store ahead and to the right. She didn’t see any immediate dangers so why- A gunshot rang.

Clarke grabbed Lexa roughly by the arm and threw her to the right, into an alleyway. More gunshots. The sound of glass breaking and people screaming. It was coming from the corner store. There was a robbery in progress. She pushed herself farther into Lexa to get away before checking her pocket for her phone. Dead. Her chest throbbed, heart present in her throat.

“Do you have your phone with you? We should call the police,” she rasped into Lexa’s ear, all nerves.

Lexa nodded in response and Clarke felt her shift against her, causing Clarke to jump away. She watched as Lexa pulled up her phone, stiff and faintly shaking. If she were farther away, she might not have noticed.

“Look at me,” Clarke said, taking Lexa’s face into her palm, “It’ll be okay. You’ll be okay.”

She didn’t let go until Lexa’s eyes met hers and she nodded again.

“There’s a robbery at the corner store on Pine and Third. People are inside. I don’t know how many. There’s gunfire.” Calm fell over Clarke at the sound of Lexa’s voice, strong and controlled. It was jarring how quickly Lexa fell into this separate persona; stoic, chin out and shoulders straight. She never would have guessed Lexa could feel even fear if she hadn’t seen it a moment before.

“I’m safe, I’m outside.” Lexa turned to Clarke. “Thank you.” She hung up. “They’re on their way.”

“Good, that’s good,” Clarke breathed, relieved.

Quiet found them. Lexa studied Clarke with curious eyes, searching, and Clarke let her, hand to chest, busy trying to slow her violently thudding heart. It only began to cease when color dripped into Lexa’s eyes and poured out. It ran up the brick walls that encircled them and down to that broken pavement beneath their feet. Only then did Clarke feel herself released from the scorching clutches of terror that had previously settled in her stomach. Only then did oxygen return to her lungs and she allowed herself to fall, knees bruising against the uneven ground and laughter bubbling in her throat. Tears collected behind her lids until they overwhelmed their barriers and trailed sloppily down her heated cheeks. Suddenly, she was sobbing, cries barely audible between blaring police sirens.

Lexa, painted in striking blues and reds, warmed under by natural browns and one memorable shade of green, stuck between fight or flight; was present, real, and there still. The sight caused Clarke to burst into a fresh wave of tears. She was so relieved, so hurt, and felt in full; intertwined so tight that they evolved into one entirely new, nameless emotion.

Lexa sat beside her, silent and patient. Her company was more consolation than anyone’s since the death of her father and her silence more comforting than any words she’d been forced to endure since the funeral. She waited until Clarke’s breaths started to even, still heavy, but slight in comparison. When she spoke, her tone was so gentle and soft, and though it was small, the care behind it was large and tangible.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Clarke answered, genuine, but conflicted until she decided to focus on the here and now. And the here and now? Was Lexa, alive.

This changed everything.

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](blakebat.tumblr.com).


End file.
